


Enjolras vs. CAPTCHA

by thepeopletoomustrise



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen, M/M, Modern AU, i'm screeching goodbye, les mis kink meme, trolling trolling in the deep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 12:59:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepeopletoomustrise/pseuds/thepeopletoomustrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Man, my ultimate prompt is definitely Grantaire being in charge of writing the fucking LJ captchas."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enjolras vs. CAPTCHA

**Author's Note:**

> total crack I don't even understand / modern au / DON'T
> 
> a CAPTCHA is the little code you have to enter usually when dealing with logins that makes you type extremely vague symbols in order to prove you're human. in this case, Grantaire decides to troll Enjolras...  
> (also ok I know captcha should be CAPTCHA but I'm too lazy)

“Combeferre! The damn computer isn’t working again,” Enjolras yanked a frustrated hand through his hair, and he shook his head, “That’s the third time this week!” Combeferre adjusted his glasses and made his way across the office, sighing tentatively. Bless his friend’s heart; certainly a leader but not a Technology Wizard by any means. “I think it’s broken.”

“Are you sure?” The last time Enjolras had complained of a broken computer, it turned out that the mouse wasn’t plugged in.

“I’m serious! It won’t let me sign in!”

The Amis, a gang of professional social justice bloggers, had been an official organization for just four months; Enjolras as the central writer/head moderator, Combeferre as the assistant moderator and resident technological expert, Joly and Bahorel as joint communication directors, and Courfeyrac as an advertisement representative. The Amis not in the aforementioned group mainly were responsible for research on potential topics, except for Grantaire; he was there solely to do the graphic design work for the blog.

Enjolras had given the poor man the position out of pity and encouragement from Courfeyrac. (Though, he turned out to be rather the creative man, when he wasn’t coming to work drunk and shouting catcalls at Enjolras.)

Enjolras let out an exasperated sigh and gestured once again to the computer, and Combeferre squinted with a frown, “Enjolras, that’s just the captcha.”

The man didn’t look any less confused, “What is this ‘captcha’? It looks like some sort of ancient language.” Combeferre opened his mouth to reply, but Enjolras cut him off by calling out to his friends, “Does anyone speak captcha?!”

Courfeyrac laughed from his seat at one of the other desks, and Combeferre shook his head, “It’s not a language. It’s a test to confirm that you’re human and not a spambot or computer.”

“But I am a human, clearly.”

“It can’t see that. It’s just a security measure, that’s all. All you have to do is type the word you see there into that little box…” he gestured to the spots on the screen, “…I can’t see it from here, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Learn something new everyday, huh, Enjolras?”

When Combeferre walked back over to Courfeyrac, who was still chuckling, Enjolras leaned in closer to the screen and squinted at the scramble of letters.

_ALLCLOHOL?_

He typed the letters in just as he saw them, careful to be sure that every letter was what it looked like. He hit enter, pride in his expression at his ability to prove his human tendencies, but it loaded for only a moment before returning to the same screen. He frowned.

**Error! Please retype the characters from the image correctly.**

Enjolras let out a huff of annoyance but was unfazed. The page had refreshed, and a new code appeared:

_PPPENI$_

With a sense of frustration he typed the symbols in again, just as he saw them…

Error! Please retype the characters from the image correctly.

“Combeferre!” he bellowed, “The computer’s broken again!”

His friend left his spot at Courfeyrac’s side and once again returned to Enjolras’ aide. He looked at the screen, adjusting his glasses on his nose and leaning in, “What have you done now?”

“It won’t let me in! I’m a human and it won’t let me in!”

Combeferre frowned, “Why, did you type the symbols in correctly?”

“Yes!”

Little did they know that it was not Captcha’s fault in the least. Grantaire, who sat three computers away, had successfully hacked in to Enjolras’ computer through the server, and was struggling not to laugh as he personally managed to create the captchas that were driving Enjolras mad (and Enjolras mad was a very attractive thing at that.)

Enjolras tapped his fingers against the keyboard in exasperation, “Ready, watch. There’s the code…”

_aPOLLOHHHHHHH ha ir_

“…And I’ll type it in correctly…” which he did, and Combeferre watched to confirm.

**Error! Please retype the characters from the image correctly.**

“Hm. Must be a glitch,” Combeferre said with a shrug, shaking his head. He hated freaking captchas. “Maybe just try refreshing again?”

And Enjolras did, gripping his mouse irritably and trying his best not to grit his teeth in a way that Courfeyrac told him would surely grate away his smile.

_hUMMPPIn’_

Enjolras, who clearly had no recognition of any of the sexual innuendo security codes, scratched his head in confusion. He refreshed eagerly, only to once again get an error message, “Dammit!”

_BIG1_

_s u c k_

_#MA N JUIce_

Just then, Marius- the financial advisor- walked behind him to hand over a coffee, “You look tense, Enjolras.”

“I am tense. Can you tell what that captcha says?”

“It says ‘Man Juice!’” said Marius rather obliviously, which caught the attention of nearly the entire room. Joly choked on the sandwich he was eating. He continued, still clueless, and he sounded it out to his friend. “M-A-N J-U-I-C-E.”

So that is what Enjolras typed in, and to no avail.

**Error! Please retype the characters from the image correctly.**

Now Marius looked almost equally troubled, so he leaned in, scratching his head. “Refresh again. I was sure we had gotten that right…”

And meanwhile, the Amis were paying rather close attention- a few of them, including Combeferre, having caught on to Grantaire’s little antics.

“Why, that says ‘BUTT MUNCHER,’ does it not?” Enjolras cried, gesturing incredulously to the screen. Marius nodded in agreement.

“It does! Why on earth won’t it work? Refresh again!”

“‘FISTEM,’ what does that mean?” Enjolras looked up at his comrades in confusion. “Does anyone speak Latin? Is FISTEM a word in Latin?”

“I think it’s Spanish,” Marius said thoughtfully, but he shook his head. “Just refresh it again.”

Refresh.

_YOLO_

"Definitely Latin."

Error. Refresh.

_POPPNTAGZ_

Error. Refresh.

_UHAV NICE Azz_

“Hey! Azz looks like ass!” Marius chuckled to himself, “What a funny coincidence!”

“This is absurd!” Enjolras cried, and he stared at his screen in disbelief. "How am I to promote social justice if the Computer Machine does not even believe I'm human?!" 

Marius wasn't listening. "Actually, speaking of asses, I was crossing the street the other day when I saw the most beautiful ray of sunshine I have ever seen! She was so  _unbelievably_ beautiful, it was as if she positively glowed- but, anyway, her 'ass' was certainly one I could not forg-"

"No one cares about your damn lonely soul, Marius! _I just want to get into my email!"_

_& I WANT 2 GET in2 U_

He blinked, staring at the new captcha on the screen curiously, “The fuck?”

The rest of the Amis were, at this point, desperately trying to stifle their laughter. Everyone in the room seemed to know what was going on, other than Marius and Enjolras- well; at least Enjolras was suspicious while Marius just laughed silently to himself about nothing in particular.

“Enjolras, we have a lot to do today. Do the damn captcha, would you?” Combeferre tried with strained effort not to give away any of his hidden laughter.

“I’m trying!” he slammed his hand on the keyboard irritably and jammed his finger onto the refresh button again.

_BREATHE APOLLO_

He narrowed his eyes. Refresh.

_;)_

_  
_Refresh.

_R_

_..._

_....._

“GRANTAIRE I SWEAR.”


End file.
